Day 1: Monday October 10. Off goes the alarm and I take a long hard look at my new, old phone. If nothing else, my arms may tone up - it’s twice as large and three times as heavy as its modern
replacement.

I board my train. Usually I’d check eBay and emails, but my new travel buddy is Jane Austen (if I’m going to do this, I’m going to do it properly!) It was far more enjoyable than scrolling scores
of tweets and Facebook updates, which often stimulate an unhealthy mix of public (embarrassing) laughter, frustration then disapproval.

I got through the morning without surfing the smallest wave of the net.

Lunchtime arrived and brought with it my first opportunity to see what I’d been missing. I logged onto a PC and went straight to Hotmail.

My chance to attend an event that night had been and gone, with the tickets snapped up at 9am by a Smartphone-using friend.

I’d failed to reply in time to a question about something I was selling on eBay, leaving the item unsold.

Three press releases had come through, which I could have typed up on the train.

Not the end of the world. These hiccups could have been remedied with a quick email check before leaving home.

Day 2: Tuesday 11. An impromptu phone interview arose, but without my iPhone I couldn’t record it. A stiff neck and five pages of scrawled notes later, I wondered what I was trying to prove.

Day 3: By Wednesday, I was halfway through Pride and Prejudice. But I’d failed to realise a good friend had become engaged at the weekend. I’d missed the Facebook message. So, I bought a card and
posted it. Old fashioned and romantic, I was bringing snail mail back.

I met a friend in London. Usually I’d rely on my phone map to guide me. Instead, I checked the map at the station, then passers-by, if they could help me.

A kind man sent me ten minutes down the road - in the wrong direction, leaving me half an hour late.

Day 4: On the train, having left Jane at home, I sneaked envious peeks as my neighbour caught up on last night’s Frozen Planet on her iPlayer app. I pondered my week. I’d missed some good photo
opportunities, I yearned after my iTunes, and I’d made life unnecessarily harder.

Like someone quitting a 20-a-day smoking habit, expecting a spare £50 a week, I naively hoped I’d be blessed with the gift of time.

I could pursue my yoga hobby! Read three novels a week!

Yes, I stopped wasting time on Facebook and Twitter but became disorganized, out of touch. And overdrawn. As a recently-graduated student, I rely heavily on my ‘near account limit’ e-mail. Which
doesn’t work if you read it 12 hours too late.

I had less free time, in fact. Everything now took longer.

If I need something quickly, I usually order it from my Amazon app, knowing it will arrive within 24 hours. Instead, I take an hour’s detour searching for a birthday present.

I was spending money on newspapers, losing money on eBay and missed a night out after leaving the Whatsapp (a free messaging app) group chat which my friends use to make arrangements.

I took to the streets to find out what Hillingdon’s attitude is towards the Smartphone.

Three-quarters of the 20 people I asked owned one, with iPhone the most popular, then Blackberry and one Samsung Galaxy.

All but one of those Smartphone owners also had Facebook and/or Twitter.

“It’s annoying but addictive,” said Sam, 20, from Ruislip. “It’s just for people to be nosey!” But he won’t be deleting his Facebook anytime soon.

“It’s great when you’re bored,” he added.

As Facebook is often seen as a social platform for the younger generation, I was interested when Gerry Watts, 72, from Uxbridge, told me: “We’ve got a new grandchild in Australia, so we look at
pictures of her and our daughter.”

Day 5: The experiment is over and I was emotionally reunited with my iPhone.

I wasn’t tempted back by Facebook. I was happy I’d begun receiving phone calls rather than generic blanket messages.

I am back on Twitter. It is my main source of news. It’s easier than unfolding a newspaper on the crowded 07.35 to Paddington – and people can’t read over your shoulder.

Ipsoregulated

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